Friday, July 30, 2010 Chapter 2

It was the name that carried fear as a burden. The name a dying soul would be relieved to hear in its last moments, reassurance that they had been put to rest by the best; the best of the worst. Yet Hamlet was a Christian fellow, according to Shakespeare. A man who feared God and the consequences of action, a man who believed in heaven and hell. And so did Nicholas.

He approached the gates, the ones he seen so many times. They resembled prison bars which to him was very much what this place meant. He entered the dimly lit mansion, his mind focused on the objects around him. His attention was on every little detail in the house. The riskiest place to be at any time was home. As he entered the living room his grandfather turned to greet him. “Welcome home, son,” he said with a satisfied grin on his face. Nicholas did not respond. He never did. Once he was home he would not remember the events of the day. It’s how he survived.

He was the one that provoked terror but inside him was a greater fear. He was weak but over the years he learned to control it. He would not think of a man, once his soul had left his body. It was a job, an occupation to him. One that ran in the family and was passed down to him. He walked into his room and looked into the mirror. He was a monster. He undid his tie and took off his shoes, sitting down carefully on the couch. He pulled up his sleeves and saw a part of the blade still stuck in his skin. He pulled it out. Fierce pain flowed through his entire arm, enough to make any man scream. Yet Nicholas couldn’t scream. If you showed any weakness, to anyone, the ones you love, the one you hate, or even to yourself, you wouldn’t survive.